Through Your Eyes
by Whoaa Kayy
Summary: AU. "The blind chick?" He asked incredulously, stopping short. Arthur barely repressed his glare. "Sorry," he said quickly. "She's just such an oxymoron, I always thought she was some type of legend the lower floors made up to look cool." Hiatus till S02
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello. :)

I've decided to post my AU now, even though this is all I have written. Too many stories are seeping out with something similar to my storyline, and-for better lack of words-I want to put my foot firmly against that creaking door and push it. Hard.

You get me? ;D (You might not. In my exhausted state I'm just saying I want to put my foot in the door. Nothing harsh or burning about my overly-sarcastic, somewhat cryptic remark.)

If, in all honesty, this doesn't stand out from the few stories that are somewhat similar to this and I should just stop writing please let me know ahead of time. I don't want to put my original novel on hold to write this just for it to go down the toilet.

School's a bitch, too, so my updates might be a little sparse. Ima try though. :D

Yeah, updates. This is a **multi-chapter **story. Do your little happy dance, all my one-shot, "you need to continue this!" fans. This one's for you. ;D

Hahha, totally kidding with the sarcasm. You guys are great.

Alright, well, be honest, be brutal, but most of all, enjoy. :)

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Stiletto heels clicked subconsciously in time, right foot, left sweep. Left foot, right sweep. It was a habit after all these years. Granted, she wasn't advised to use her standard issue inside the building (for while it was well accommodated for people like her, the crowded hallways implied otherwise), but the main entrance way didn't exactly count. Not in her eyes.

...Or so the saying goes.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

She didn't really mind the iconic symbol of what some people would deem her disability, not anymore. Of course, she did—once upon a time. It was only natural. But now that she was back to being herself (for the most part) she coped with it. Came to an understanding, of sorts.

She used to hate it, hurl it across the room, screaming, every time someone tried to coax her into trying it. She couldn't accept that she needed it in order to cling to what little independence she had left.

She shook her head at nothing, clearing it. That wasn't her. Some foreign being inhabiting her body, possessing her maybe, but it most definitely was not her.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Good morning Miss Walker."

* * *

He should've been late. Hell, any person would be if they left their home 15 minutes before their supposed arrival time with a 45-minute commute ahead of them. It wasn't hard though, not for him. Not when he knew all the uncharted back roads that allowed him to top 100 miles on his speedometer.

He couldn't resist a good adrenaline rush, it's what drew him to the Agency in the first place.

"Morning Joan," he greeted charmingly as he fell into step with his boss's wife at precisely eight o' clock. He was a 7th floor guy, so it's not like he needed to do any ass-kissing, but making the Ice Queen (as she was so frequently called around the water cooler) smile never failed to earn him brownie points with the Head Honcho.

"Morning August, I see you're here on time." She suppressed an irritated smirk, "for once."

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Campbell?" He flashed her his signature grin, noting the slight warmth that flicked across her icy eyes. Big brownie points today, he thought acerbically. And even before he reached the front door. "Punctual is my middle name."

"Your file says James, August."

"Oh, you know: semantics."

She chose not to answer him, instead picking up her pace a half-step to beat him to the door. Though always quick on his feet (it's what made him such a good field agent after all), he held it open with a deep bow, peaking up at her with a grin through his dark lashes.

She stayed silent, striding over to the palm scanner and heading off to her own department on the second floor.

"Have a good day, Joan!"

No response. He grinned and laughed to himself, admitting that he might have overdone it, if not just a bit. Oh well, he thought with a shrug as the laser scanned his hand, he could never ignore a pretty face.

It would probably help him in the long run, anyway.

"Anderson, my office!"

"I'm not late!" He called back immediately, searching for his boss's strutting figure.

"Now!"

"Coming!"

* * *

"Morning Joan," she called cheerfully when the clinking of her boss's metal necklace rang out across the technical booth.

"Coffee at your ten o' clock, anything new to report?"

She took a long sip and sighed, content, before spinning in her chair. "What do we got boys?"

"Halfway cracked that new encrypted Intel, though it doesn't look like anything remotely interesting." Greg offered. From the direction of his voice it sounded like he was reading off his monitor. "Steinberg's pretty paranoid. I've found tax returns dating back to the 80's and what looks like every grocery list he ever wrote on here."

"Maybe he thought someone was going to steal the last batch of un-cracked eggs." Stu joked, making her snort, unladylike, into her cup. Joan clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the younger woman.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"Anything else? Maybe something we can actually _use_?"

"Well, his GPS logs everywhere he goes." She tried, reading the information through her keyboard. "It looks like he goes to the same grocery store every other Sunday, the same dry cleaner twice a month on Tuesdays, and he eats at a small mom n' pop diner on the 17th."

"Are there any disruptions in his schedule?" Joan asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Not in the last couple of months, no. The last change was on a Wednesday two months ago, when he drove an hour out to the tri-state mall."

"Has he done that before?"

She searched through the pages of data for a silent moment, "it happens every two months. Has been for the last year and a half on the same day, around the same time. The next meeting should be tomorrow."

"Good job, Walker." She said, squeezing her shoulder. "Grab another coffee on me."

"Thanks Joan!" She called after the firm clack of the older woman's retreating heels. "Up for some more code cracking, boys?"

"Only you know how to make that sound exciting, Annie." Stu said, chuckling.

"It's all part of my charm."

* * *

"How would you feel of taking on a side mission?" Arthur asked the younger man perched lazily on the side of the couch across the room. He snorted, rolling his eyes and crossed his arms.

"You mean, next to my other two side-ops? Oh, and somewhere between the time I'm working on my sleeper?"

He sighed, annoyed, and rubbed his temples. For a moment he searched through a few papers on his desk before looking back up at him. "Yes," he said shortly, refusing to play the young Agent's game. "That's exactly what I mean."

August shrugged, smothering the exciting tremors that always came with a new mission. He loved them dearly, but revealing that childish antic to his boss probably wasn't the best of ideas.

"Sure, I'm up for it. What d'ya got?"

"The DPD requested an agent to follow an assassin they've been tracking. Tomorrow seems like the only time he'll be in an overly public area where we can survey him without being spotted—"

"The second floor, boss?" He blurted, insulted. To send him five floors below must be some kind of joke. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's only for a day, Anderson. They need the best. Steinberg's extremely paranoid, and he knows how to kill—"

"I don't care if he can kill with his pinky finger, why me?"

Arthur pierced him with his tired, stern gaze silently. It took him a moment, but he finally found the high compliment his boss had paid him. "Oh," he said, letting a slow smile split his face. Ignoring the uncomfortable warmth that settled itself on the back of his neck, he cleared his throat. "So, why is this assassin important to us?"

"He's supposedly been in contact with Raul Gorecki. The file says that he's known him since childhood; meeting him in the camps they were both brought up in. They trained together."

He nodded once, understanding the bond between the two assassins: like brothers, and probably the ones that liked each other.

"Gorecki recently killed an American diplomat in his own home, along with his wife and son."

Okay, August thought. His ass was toast, that was easy enough to understand.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, standing up to approach Arthur's desk as he held out a file.

"Tail them. Figure out why they're meeting, if it's really Gorecki Steinberg is meeting. What are they planning, may it be a nuke attack or a dinner party. I want to know what's going on."

"So you don't want me to bring in Steinberg?"

"God, no. That man's worse than a schizophrenic. Just figure out who he's meeting, what they're saying, and any other suspicious activity that might be going on. I want to be able to see and hear what you do, so perfect recall is necessary."

He headed towards the door, immersed in the file when he heard "I want you to report to Joan in twenty. She'll take you to meet Miss Walker and get everything in order for tomorrow."

"The blind chick?" He asked incredulously, stopping short. Arthur barely repressed his glare. "Sorry," he said quickly. "She's just such an oxymoron, I always thought she was some type of legend the lower floors made up to look cool."

"She _is_ a legend," he corrected. "Now get down there."

* * *

Why couldn't they send one of the DPD agents? She asked herself angrily as she put the needed sugar and cream into her second coffee. There was nothing wrong with them. More importantly, they already knew how she worked, and she trusted them. They trusted her.

Now some idiot was coming in, and not just any idiot—a _seventh floor_ idiot. They were going to mess everything up in seconds.

The mission would probably be completed perfectly, she offered the intruding hotshot, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to be hell getting there.

"Hey boss, get anything for me?" Greg asked as she walked through the door to her office. She could tell by the playful tone in his voice that he might've been doing something along the lines of waggling his eyebrows.

"Besides a reality check? Just the usual." She replied, setting the black coffee down at his desk and hip-checking his chair. She listened to his laughter as she made her way back to her seat.

"Hey, the newbie's here!" Stu said excitedly, the creaking of his chair telling her he rose to get a better look.

"I hardly doubt any one of Arthur's agents would like being called a newbie, Stu. If anything, we're the newbies."

"Not on this floor," Greg commented, making her feel the slightest bit better. "He has to learn our ways, because I sure as hell am not turning everything upside down for him."

"So it's a him?" She asked, her interest peaked.

"Oh my God..." Stu murmured, sitting back in his chair slowly. "I thought he was just a legend..."

"What, what's going on?"

"It's most definitely a him," Greg said quietly. He sounded like he'd been knocked off his feet. "It's _the_ him."

"Who, Jai?" She asked uncertainly. "What would Agency royalty want with an op like this? It won't get him any—"

"Ahem."

Instantly she felt a glare consume her features, promising to rip her boys a new one once Joan and whomever the him was left. They knew to warn her when people were heading their way. There had been one too many awkward conversations interrupted by an outside element that simply had no idea what they were talking about.

I can feel you looking at me weird, she wanted to say every time they would be disturbed, but we tech geeks have our own language. It's not for your normal, social-butterfly ears to hear.

Yeah, they'd be having a serious talk later.

"I don't usually like being compared to my one and only competition," the newbie (as Greg so rightfully dubbed him) was saying, snapping her out of her revere. "But for a pretty thing like you, I think I'll make an exception."

Annie snorted at him, something she ungracefully had the habit of doing for as long as she could remember. Not even two minutes of standing in _her_ office and he was already hitting on her.

"Just this once, though."

Annie stilled her shaking head, cocking it in the direction of his strong, gravelly voice. There was the agent every person in this building had inside of them, right _there_. She could even hear strong traces of the seventh floor in his voice, maybe a little bit of something else, too. Narcissism, overconfidence? Pride? Oh.

All of the above, she finally decided.

"I've heard about you," she said conversationally, all too aware of the smile teasing her lips as she spun in her chair.

"Likewise, Miss Walker." He said, leaning against her desk. "You're something of a fairytale up on the seventh floor."

"Funny, I haven't gotten my happily ever after yet."

He let out a short breath, she heard it; halting their short banter. "What can I do for you today?" She asked through her smug smile.

"He's already been debriefed, Annie. I was showing him around the department before started preparing him for tomorrow. You'll be his handler for this mission."

As if she didn't already know that.

"We'll be back," Joan said, squeezing Annie's hand meaningfully before silently departing.

"Mr. Anderson?" Annie called after the hard, distinctive sound of combat boots hitting the marble. They stopped. "You're a bit of a mystery down here, too."

The footsteps faded and she took a deep breath, and just like that it seemed the "play" button was suddenly hit.

Stu and Greg, for a lack of better words, gushed. "How did you know it was _him_?" Stu asked, astonished. Annie shrugged, fiddling with something on her computer.

"His voice," she said after a moment.

"What do you mean?" Greg asked, swiveling up next to her.

"Well, he obviously sounded pompous enough to be from the seventh floor, but there was that thing, right on the edge that gave him away."

"So, you know who he is?" Stu asked apprehensively from somewhere behind her.

Hazy images from her newbie field days—_before_ all this blindness mumbo jumbo—flashed in her mind's eye. Dark brown hair cropped short and businesslike, equally warm dark eyes that concealed only too much, and that heart-stopping grin that could make any heart melt. He had smiled at her once, on her first day, from the second floor balcony overlooking the front entrance, but then he had simply turned his head and walked away.

That had been a long time ago, a time she doubted he remembered. It was a teenage girl moment of heart stuttering hormones, anyway. Nothing to get too worked up over.

"The elusive right hand man to the director of the Clandestine Service Department? The one that does all his dirty work he swears he knows nothing about? Yeah, I know who he is." She sighed.

"The real question though, boys, is why is he _here_?"

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, except maybe the plot line. Dunno, it could've been done before.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** -runs frantically into the room, papers flying everywhere- I'M HERE! I'M HERE! I'M HERE!

-takes a deep breath- GUESS WHAT? CHAPTER TWO! YAYAYAYA.

The downside? I have no idea when I can write chapter three. Let me explain.

School's kicking off, and I'm a section editor for my Yearbook staff as well as sharing _another _section with my friend. So technically, I'm the editor for a section and a half. What does that mean, for all you non-yearbook savvy readers?

I have a helluva lot of work ahead of me for the year. For cereal.

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL! -gasps- I'm also the stage manager for my school's fall production. Yeah, yeah? -applause (hopefully)- Well, thank you. This is the biggest job I've ever been given for theater...and I stole the job right out from under my ex-boyfriend.

SCORE!

So, _that _means rehearsals every day after school till like, five. Tech weekends, tech evenings, and then the actual performance! Yay! _THEN_ we're taking the one-act from the play to districts with us, and I'm the stage manager for that, too.

DOUBLE SCORE!

I will be writing all that I can, whenever I can, so bear with me and have a little bit of faith, pretty please. I'm actually really upset that I didn't get to write more for this chapter, since I wrote multiple - albeit short - cuts for their POV's, and I only got to do one of each for this chapter, but they're much longer, which I hope will suffice.

I will be doing my best to update every Tuesday, the exception being today (because I felt like I was hit by a bus yesterday - I was horribly sick. D:) and any other day I'm completely swamped in homework/rehearsals/editing spreads...or I haven't been able to write anything and I'm too scared to tell you all. :O

Sorry for the long-ass **A/N:**, but I had to gush. I'm not really sure if I'm allowed to talk to people at school about it yet, and I'm so excited that I just had to tell someone. Plus, I wanted to let you all know who like this story (THANK YOU SO MUCH!) why I might not update as much as you'd like me to. Okay, well, enjoy! :D

* * *

"You want me to _what_?"

"Wear a wire—"

"I know that, but—but..._why_?"

"Your _boss_ wants "perfect recall", and these men are paranoid—"

"BUT WIRES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE WORN ON YOUR CHEST!"

He watched the woman's brown eyes narrow, flinching only just as she brought her arms up, crossing them a moment later. Her stiletto heel clicked impatiently, so loud he might have been laying next to it. He imagined her fantasizing about that heel, tapping itself deeper and deeper into his skull, and mentally shivered.

He stood his ground though. He would _not_ be doing..._that_.

"What's so difficult about this?" She asked him, irritated, as she moved closer to him. His first instinct was to recoil, back himself up into the wall because she was just _that_ scary and—and...

He never met a blind person before today, and he still wasn't sure how to act.

He steeled himself though, hardly wincing as her small hands collided with his torso. It wouldn't have mattered how he reacted if it was just the two of them in her office, but her tech goons were looming protectively in the shadows, like two seriously smart older brothers.

Oh, the credit card debt he would have if he did something to upset the girl in front of him, he thought as he glanced at them.

She tugged roughly at the front of his belt, making him choke in surprise. He ripped his gaze from the men and stared down at her, horror stricken. She didn't notice though, and he doubted she even heard it. She was so concentrated, fingering every detail of his waist.

Which, in reality, was extremely uncomfortable.

"Do you _mind_?" He gritted out as her thumb brushed over a particularly sensitive spot. She cocked her head and smirked, purposely doing it one more time. He sucked in a gulp of air, enraged.

She wasn't even his type, for God's sake.

"Give me these, I'll have them modified before you leave. Just make sure to tuck your shirt in tomorrow."

That wouldn't be a problem, he immediately started to say, for he tucked in most of his shirts, with the exception of tees. But then her words clicked, and anger boiled in him once again.

"I am _not_ just going to _give_ you my pants!" He yelled, the department behind him falling silent. An awkward cough was heard somewhere in the background.

"Well, you're going to have to." She answered calmly, turning to find her chair.

"Here, let me help—"

"_Excuse me_?"

He was officially an idiot.

* * *

Miffed was a good word, she decided. She never really used it, but if _he_ stuck around for very much longer "miffed" was going to become a regular staple in her vocabulary.

Along with the many curse words she could call him in the multiple tongues he didn't know. Personal files really do come in handy sometimes.

Of all things he could've fought her on, he had to fight her on her ingenious wire positioning. _Why_ was it such a big deal to have the wire hiding on the lower part of your body compared to the upper part? That is where most criminals looked first, thanks to cheesy crime-fighting movies, so wouldn't this be better? Safer, even? No one would suspect there was an audience looking on through his zipper.

She shook her head and cleared her throat, embarrassed. That came out wrong.

"Annie," Joan's voice rang out over her startled shriek. The woman gripped her shoulder tighter: an apology. "It's late."

"'M fine," she mumbled immediately, busying herself with her computer.

"Wanna talk about it?" Joan asked, leaning against her desk. Annie sighed.

"I hate him." She half whined. "He's a pompous jerk who never grew out of the "high school jock" persona. He won't listen to anything I suggest. He wants it done his way and he doesn't care if my way is more proficient!" She huffed angrily. "Can't one of our Agents go with him? It'd make things so much easier."

"This is a one-man job, Annie. There's no point in assigning another Agent." She stood up and crossed her arms, sighing. "Let me take you home, it's been a long day."

Annie shook her head. "I'm waiting for mister high roller to pick up his modified jeans for tomorrow, then I'm just going to call a cab."

"Anderson?" Joan suddenly asked, confused. "He left a couple of hours ago."

Annie almost screamed. She was hungry, she was tired, and her sister was probably wondering where the _hell_ she was. She was rarely ever late, and ever since she came home her sister was worse than their over-protective mother.

"Oh," she said quietly instead. She shut her computer down manually and pushed away from the desk, breathing hard. "In that case, I'd love a ride home."

"Stupid, pompous—_IDIOT_!" She was half yelling as she turned onto her sister's way. Joan, after many-practiced nights, dropped Annie off at the corner, which was exactly 538 and a half steps until Danielle's redbrick drive. So, now, taking her 540th step, she didn't realize how loud her temper had gotten.

She was using her standard issue, much like Joan suggested. "You can't use your Department issue in public, Annie." Joan had told her once. "Prototypes for that haven't even been released yet, and you would be a lot more noticeable shining green dots everywhere."

So she had walked away grumbling, banging her simple white cane obnoxiously—much like she was doing now.

"Annie, _Annie_! Easy, you're going to put another dent in the car!" Danielle yelled as she ran towards her younger sister, expertly jumping over the offending object in question as its owner instinctively whipped it in her direction.

A sick wave of guilt washed over Annie. The first dent, which she was told was hardly visible and already a little soft from Chloe kicking the soccer ball astray too many times, had honestly been an accident. She had felt horrible when it happened, but she had just starting learning how to use it outside and the car had been parked just an inch or two closer to her front door than it had the day before, simultaneously getting thwacked for its position before she could tell herself to stop.

"Sorry," she murmured, embarrassed.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"He's just so unbelievable!" She half screamed in frustration thirty minutes later, splashing some bubbles as she threw her hands in the air. Danielle was somewhere opposite her, most likely sitting dutifully on the toilet.

"What happened? Start from the top."

"Well, this new—consultant—was brought in to help with the set up of a new Ancient Egypt exhibit and I had asked him for a layout of it so I could map out the security system accordingly before he left. It's not that hard to do, you think? Apparently, it was though, since I was sitting there for four hours waiting for him! Or I guess for my boss, who came to tell me he already left!"

Not at all relieved, her chest heaved with the heavy, angry breaths she forced herself to take. She didn't like lying to Danielle, especially about her job, but days like these when she just _had_ to get it out she didn't mind a little improvisation. The main point always got across anyway, so what was the point in worrying over all the little things?

"What, what's wrong?" She asked after a too-long moment of silence. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "Danielle?"

"You _like_ him," Danielle started to sing. Annie let out a minute sigh of relief at the sound of her sister's voice before her words registered. She froze.

"How do you get "you like him" out of a rant about how much of an arrogant ass he is?"

"You never rant about one single guy—"

"—That's because I've never met one as pig-headed as he is—"

"And you've been thinking about him all day, working yourself up over him. Your face is as red as a tomato, I'll have you know. It's not helping your case against me very much."

Annie was silent, mentally glaring at the deflating bubbles. All day, even long after he left her office, she had been stewing. Did he still look the same, she wondered. Her first day at the Agency showed him in a suit and tie, but the distinct sound of combat boots defined him today. Did he still have the same haircut? Did he let it grow, or cut it even shorter? Had his eyes grown cold? Did the walls behind them finally crack, letting the pain and anger seep into those dark windows, or were they just as warm and guarded as she remembered? What about his smile, her mind nagged. Was it possible it became even _more_ heart stopping? She didn't think the feat was possible.

"I don't like him," she finally mumbled. "Besides, he'd never go for me in a million years."

"Are you kidding?" Danielle suddenly wailed, outraged. "You're tall, beautiful, and blonde. You can rock a pair of heels better than some models. He's probably thinking about you right now, trying to figure out how to keep his jaw in place whenever he's around you."

Though she knew Danielle was lying, saying these things just to make her feel better, she couldn't deny that it didn't help. Regardless, she thought as her fingers brushed against the thin scar running along the base of her neck, a lie was a lie. There was no truth in it, no matter how much she wished there was.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, obviously.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Okay, so. I know this is really late, and I'm really sorry, but I've had some unexpected back problems and I've had to have two minor surgeries this week. It has not been fun.

So today's the first day I've been able to sit for more than fifteen minutes! Yay!

I'm sorry this chapter's kind of a filler, I'll try to stay on time with the updates from now on, but I haven't written anymore than what you've read, so hang in there. I'm trying.

Enjoy!

* * *

"August?"

"Yes boss?"

"Why is my wife kicking me out of my bed?"

August fidgeted for a moment, wondering if his boss's late night phone call was a joke, a cryptic message, or simply just a drunken evening of sorrow. His voice wasn't slurred though, and he actually sounded pretty calm. He tried for the second option.

"Because..." He searched futilely around his apartment for some kind of intelligent reply. "Because you forgot to take out the trash?"

If he was sure his boss wouldn't hear it, he would've slapped his forehead out of pure stupidity. It was one thing for any regular agent to reply with such an inane reply, but him? With the way his job was whispered about in the break-rooms and bathroom stalls? Someone might as well just hand him a Darwin right now.

"The trash is taken care of for this week, Mr. Anderson. But tell me, are you missing your pants?"

For a second, August looked down from his half buttoned shirt to make sure that he indeed still had his pants, but then Arthur's words settled with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He suddenly had the strange desire to check his bank account.

"Oh no," was all he managed to croak. Joan laughed viciously from somewhere in the background.

"Oh no is right, Anderson." Came her sharp voice, and he belatedly realized he was on speakerphone. "When you report to the DPD at zero six-hundred, "oh no" is all you're going to be able to say."

There was a firm click, and August muttered a stricken "sleep well," to the dial tone. He started to pace.

How could he have been so stupid? It's not like him to forget a girl asking him to _give them his pants_.

Although, maybe she didn't ask in the same context as he'd _like_ for most girls to, but she still asked.

The doorbell rang, and he sighed and shook his head. "Well hello there beautiful," he said suavely as he rolled back his heavy door and took in the sight of his date.

"Hey," she replied. He watched with pride as her eyes raked up and down his body, pausing momentarily on his chest. "Not ready yet?"

"What—" He started to ask, falling silent as he looked down at his half-buttoned, untucked shirt. He grinned impishly, raising his shoulders in a slight shrug. She smiled slyly at him.

"No biggie," she said with a giggle as she sauntered closer to him, tugging on his collar. "I always liked having dessert before dinner."

As her mouth assaulted his, he had all he could do to hold back his laughter. The "dessert before dinner" line, really? Was she _that_ desperate? When her tongue forced itself roughly into his mouth he deduced that she was.

Oh well, he thought as she moaned loudly when they're tongues rolled together, who was he to refuse such a generous offer?

He loved women, don't get him wrong, but there was something about the after-sex cuddle that always had him on edge. Some of his better dates understood that, and after a sexy shower for two would promptly pick up their clothes, give him a hot kiss goodbye, and disappear into the night.

This one, however, didn't seem to get the message.

"So," she murmured thickly as she snuggled into the crook of his neck. "Should we go out for a late-night snack, or shall we wait for breakfast?"

He was counting the dots on his ceiling in attempt to delay his response, waiting till he got to dot seven hundred and thirteen before breathing a deep sigh. "Both options sound great," he tried carefully, playing with the black hair that hung damply between her shoulder blades, "but I have an early morning at the firm tomorrow."

Any decently smart girl would have found the double meaning laced throughout his soft words, picked up her head to stare at him somewhat dejectedly before nodding in affirmation and getting up to leave. This one, however, just nodded slowly and continued to draw unintelligible circles on his chest.

"That's okay, I have like, an internal clock or whatever."

Seriously, how did her lack of intelligence go unnoticed when he was picking her up? He usually had a multitude of tests he carried out before determining if a woman was date-worthy.

It might've had something to do with being heavily buzzed when he met her, but who cared about the semantics anyway?

He forced himself to chuckle and squeeze her arm for a moment, feeling her smile into his skin and snuggle deeper. The feeling of another body so close to his was stifling, all he wanted to do was get away from her as fast as he could. Personal bubbles were there for a reason, he wanted to tell her.

The patterns started to slow before stopping all together, her heavy sigh ringing out a moment later. He looked down fearfully at the stilling girl in his arms. Oh no, he wanted to yell, not in my bed you're not!

Soft, feminine snores filled the silence seconds later and he rolled his eyes. Great, another set of sheets to burn.

He stared down at the girl, only realizing then that he had no idea what her name was. Rebecca, or maybe Veronica. Something like that. From this angle he could see her luxurious black hair was in fact platinum blonde, the roots just barely visible. He made a face, for although this new-found natural hair color made sense with the subpar intelligence level, he did _not_ like blondes.

He had nothing against them, there was just something about the iconic, stereotypical girl-next-door color that he just didn't like. Blondes usually meant a serious lack of intelligence, as proven by the girl still curled up in his arms, and he could probably withstand all cruel and unusual forms of torture longer than he could take trying to have an intelligent conversation with one.

Well, there were a few exceptions, he thought guiltily as a dark glare flashed across his mind.

How was he going to make it up to Annie for ditching her at work? Take her out, buy her coffee maybe? Although she did seem to love caffeine, he doubted he would be back in her good graces (if he ever was in the first place) with a simple warm drink.

What about flowers, his inner romantic guy asked. Then he audibly slapped himself in the forehead.

Could he _be_ any stupider?

It must be the prolonged presence of the blonde, he thought sarcastically.

The only way he was going to be redeemed, he decided as he extracted himself from the tangle of limbs and crossed his flat to the couch, was to do everything she told him to during this op without complaint.

Great, he sighed as his eyelids drooped, the one thing he had a problem with: following protocol.

* * *

If he thought he was going to impress her by getting there before her, she thought as she passed the yawning night guard at zero five thirty, he was sorely mistaken. She would not be won with a few ass-kisses and a couple suck ups. In her mind he was a pompous idiot who thought too highly of himself and he was going to stay that way.

Not even as she was met with the unmistakable smell of freshly brewed coffee and blueberry muffins when she walked into her office.

"Good morning!" His rough voice greeted as she slid the glass door closed behind her. Habitually, she folded her standard issue and tucked it away in her messenger bag, exchanging it for her Department issue before she responded.

"You're sitting in my chair."

"S—sorry," he said, scrambling to get out of her way as she ambled over to her desk. After starting up her computer, she finally turned to him.

"Is that Colombian brew?"

"Yes," he said a little too quickly and a little too happily. "Best in the tri-state area, made by yours truly. It's to the left of you."

"Where?" She asked, inching her fingers across the glass desk. A pregnant, confused pause hung in the air and she bit back her smirk. "Give me a number."

"Huh?" He asked, the sound of plastic wheels breaking through his voice as he rolled a spare chair up to her desk.

"Like how you and your buddies tell each other where a hot babe is around you: give me a number."

"Oh," he said quietly, comprehension dawning. "Err, nine o'clock to your hand?" He tried, phrasing it more as a question than a statement.

"Good job," she commended when her nimble fingers collided with the hot mug. His relieved sigh engulfed her in a whirl of spearmint. "So how long have you been here?" She asked after taking a sip. She would never admit it, but his coffee had to be the best she'd ever had in D.C.. Certainly much better than any Starbucks drink, even on the best of days.

"Oh, for about an hour." He said airily. She imagined him waving one of his hands mindlessly in front of him and resisted the urge to smile. She was still mad at him.

"Why?"

He didn't answer right away, and she listened instead to his squeaking chair, protesting with the severe fidgeting he must be doing.

"No reason," he finally muttered. He paused, and a second later he sighed. She presumed he had his own cup of coffee. "So how do these pants work?" He asked, effectively changing the subject.

"You're wearing them?" She asked brusquely.

"Well, of course," he replied, choosing not to comment on her abrupt question. "Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason," she mumbled into her drink, mimicking him. He sighed again, and her nose burned. "Do you have to do that?" She blurted, irritated. "It's too early."

"For sighing?" He asked with a chuckle.

"For an overdose of spearmint, actually."

"Oh, I didn't know you could smell it."

"Heightened senses, hello?"

She took another long drink of coffee and turned to her computer with an angry shake of her head, trying to convey that this conversation was now over—at least till other people came into the office...for his sake.

"I'm sorry I left last night." She heard a few moments later. She jumped, half believing he had gotten the message and left. She took a deep breath and swung back around to his voice, crossing her arms.

"You're going to listen to me during this mission?" It wasn't a question, but for courtesy's sake she worded it as one.

"Yes," he said after a pause. She was sure he nodded.

"Good, because you're going to be alone out there. I'm the only one you can rely on."

He was about to say something when the door opened and floral perfume filled the office. "Morning Joan!" They chorused, then proceeded to fidget awkwardly at their unrehearsed moment.

"I'll forget that happened," Joan said after an embarrassed moment of silence. "Anderson, my office. Now."

When her heels started to fade and combat boots couldn't be heard following after them, Annie cocked her head to the side.

"Yes, secret agent man?"

He snorted, if just for a given, instinctive moment and made a sound of hesitation. He wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure what. They already said all that needed to be said, didn't they?

"Anderson!"

"Blue berry muffins," he was suddenly whispering in her ear. Her heart jumped painfully from the unexpected proximity and the sudden drowning atmosphere of his spearmint. "Two o' clock."

And then he was gone.

Damn, she thought as she timidly bit into her first muffin. He better not have baked these, too.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, 'cept maybe the plot.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Hello! Long time, no see! I'm sorry I haven't updated in months (!D:!), but that stage manager job I told you about in...um. October? That took up more time than I thought it would. It's almost over though, ending completely on the 11th, and then it's home-free Annie and Auggie! I cannot wait to wave it off, because-to be honest with you guys-it's been such a drain on me. Absolutely horrible.

Anyhoo, I'm sorry if Auggie seems a little mixed. He hasn't found the right character fit on my fingers yet, but we're getting there.

P.S. I went back and edited the last three chapters as a little gift to you guys, but if I missed any errors please feel free to tell me.

**WILL** update next Tuesday, pinky swear. Love you guys for sticking with me, you're the best! :D

Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

"You're down here for a day, Anderson. You don't need to be making "buddy buddy" with a girl you'll most likely never see again." Joan was saying, although she could've been yelling. It all sounded muffled to him.

While she was talking, August was blinking. Quite stupidly, if any outsider were to look in and catch him being subjected this baffling, mildly annoying lecture.

Joan was Annie's boss, he got that, but for her to bank his personal life ladies' man persona on his work ethic was an entirely new insult altogether.

The techie intrigued him in a special kind of way. He found himself wanting to study her movements and mannerisms instead of trying to sleaze his way into her pants. Even the thought of being with her drenched him in a whole new feeling of slime.

How many times was he going to have to remind people that didn't like blondes, anyway? At this rate, he decided as he watched Joan perform an oddly balanced mixture of ranting and pacing, he figured he'd be saying it a lot.

Joan was looking at him expectantly, waiting. "Are we done now?" He asked. He sounded livid, something he hadn't been aware of before he spoke. Sure, he was a little ticked, but _angry_? What had gotten into him?

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, burying themselves under her bangs as she stared at him, astonished. He was pretty surprised by his rage, too, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"Yes, Anderson. If you have nothing else to add to this little discussion then I believe we're finished. Dismissed."

There was a lot he wanted to add, like how he wasn't one of her lowly second-floor agents and she should know better than to treat him like one, but he bit back his annoyance and walked out respectfully.

She was still Arthur's wife—no matter how hard it was to fathom any man wanting to marry that frigid bitch—and Arthur was his boss, which meant no temper tantrums within Agency walls.

A choking sound made him look up a few moments later, and when he focused he saw Jai gaping, open mouthed, at him. A look of surprised horror consuming his dark face. Not even a second later, though, it was replaced with a smug smirk.

"Can it, Wilcox. I'm not stuck down here like you." He muttered, brushing passed him.

Instead of retorting, Jai walked with him, asking him where he was going and why he was down here.

"I'm going to see Annie," he told him, and nothing more. Wilcox didn't need to know why he was sent down here.

"Can I come?" Even though they were already five steps away from her glass doors. He could see her typing away on her strange keyboard, completely unaware of the chaos around her. It was kind of refreshing to see that there was at least some simplicity left in the world, even in here.

"Sure, why not?" It's not like he would take no for an answer, anyway.

"Hey Annie," Jai said, his own greeting dying sadly on his parted lips. There was a raised, breathless tone to Jai's usual arrogant, smooth voice. It was slight, and the only way he caught it was because he had worked with the man for so long, but it still made him raise an eyebrow in his direction. She was blonde...and blind. Why was he so worked up over her?

Annie waved, not once pausing in her ferocious typing excursion, and Jai looked the tiniest bit affronted. August almost laughed, but crudely covered it up by clearing his throat.

"Got my piece, Walker?" He asked gruffly. Her fingers froze in mid-air and she blinked, as if the action would help anything, before turning towards him.

"Anderson?" Her eyes rested more so on Jai than him, and he heard Jai's breath catch. Please, he thought with a roll of his eyes. It's not like she's staring into your soul or anything. "Thank you for the muffins, by the way, they were really—"

"Earpiece, Walker." I shouldn't be treating you like you're nothing, he should have said. Because she wasn't nothing. She was...well, he wasn't exactly sure, but she wasn't nothing.

She slid a small plastic box toward him somberly, turning her head back to the computer screen. He felt sick over the way he spoke to her, but he'd be lying if what Joan said didn't ring some truth in him, if only just a little. After this op he would be back to the countless highly classified missions that most Agents don't even dream about. He'd fall back in the shadows come nightfall. Like mist, he would disappear. With any luck, she'd forget about him and the vile way he was treating her in a few weeks' time.

"Just what _are _you doing here?" Jai's voice wrenched him from his thoughts. "Anderson?"

"Observing."

* * *

Her head ached. It had nothing to do with Jai's overpowering cologne or his swept-away voice, but everything to do with Anderson's sudden personality change. Combat boots still pounded against the tile, musk and mint swirled in the air around him; the strangely delightful smell making her dizzy. What was going on?

Times like these I really hate being blind, she thought angrily. She would bet money that his face could answer her questions.

"Jai," she called sweetly as she continued to type her report. "If you wouldn't mind refilling my coffee? You know how I love the way you make it."

Something in the air moved, and soon there was a body near her. "Of course, Annie," Jai said. "I'll even throw in a little something special."

She imagined him winking and tried not to gag. "Can't wait," she smiled like Danielle when she accepted horribly, half-cooked food from their aunt Regina at Christmas.

"August?" She asked once Jai's footsteps faded.

"Don't drink that coffee, okay? He might drug it."

She suppressed a real smile, replying "I always suspect he does, so I only let him get it when I'm done for the day."

"I don't believe it: the energizer bunny has a limit."

"Aug," she said, smiling at the funny way the nickname felt on her lips. "What'd Joan do?"

He sighed, sitting in Greg's chair. "Nothing I can't handle, Anne."

She made a face at the name, but accepted the endearment nonetheless. "Good," she said, turning towards him. "'Cause if you speak to me like that during the op I'll cut you off."

"Duly noted, captain." He said, and she was positive he saluted.

A long moment of silence stretched out before them, and her smile unconsciously grew into a grin.

"I can hear you smiling, too, you know. Don't pretend that you're not."

And then they were laughing. The sound was beautiful, his laugh. More so than anything she could've ever seen in her lifetime.

She never did get her coffee.

* * *

"See anyone yet?"

"Just an onslaught of crazed Christmas shoppers," August murmured as he sipped his coffee.

She chuckled, "I guess some things never change."

The wig in his ear was quiet, letting him wander the mall in peace. It was a big place, and only a very small part of him wondered if he would even find the men.

"How's the feed coming in?" He asked sarcastically.

"Crystal clear, according to Stu." She chirped back almost immediately, "just don't spill your coffee."

He smirked at nothing; his eyes scanned the open area.

"Greg says to double back around that kiosk you just passed, he thinks he saw something."

Because the tech geek who's never seen a day in the field would spot two international terrorists from across the oversized hallway, he thought.

But sure enough, as he pretended to examine a shell bracelet, he saw them. Huddled secretively in a corner, August didn't understand how he missed them in the first place.

"Call me," he said as he walked away from the kiosk, small bag in hand.

It took her a moment, but soon she was asking him to repeat what he said.

"When I get within twenty-five feet of them, just do it."

Seventeen more steps, and then his phone went off. He took a deep breath: here goes nothing.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?" Annie whispered fiercely as he flipped open the small piece of technology. The echo of her voice in the earpiece underneath the speaker of the phone sounded strange, but he didn't ponder the thought for long.

"Hey babe, where are you? I've been walking this mall for hours!"

He laughed for good measure, slowing down a bit and revolving as he walked, all the while coming even closer to the men.

She was silent for a beat, surprised, before saying "Anderson, I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is—"

"Yeah, _hours_!" He laughed again, louder, getting the attention of the glaring men. "Well, I'm in front of Macy's right now, are you anywhere near there?" He paused for a moment, and she didn't try to argue with him anymore. Maybe she was at a loss for words, or maybe she was busy finding something. He couldn't be sure. "How did you get all the way over there?"

"By picking a direction to go in and walking as far away from you as possible."

Her reply was so serious and so far out of left field that he almost halted his gait, which would have been very bad, as he was directly in front of Steinberg and Gorecki at this point, earning hyper-aware glares from the pair of them.

"Well I bought you something," he tried to keep his voice a light, teasing tone, but he was already laughing with the anticipation of her next reply.

"It better not be a painting."

He was inwardly shaking by now. How did he not know she had a sense of humor? And a pretty good one at that, he commended. He cleared his throat and tried to speak normally.

"Don't you think I know you enough about you to know what'd you like for Christmas without having to ask?"

"You've known me for less than a day, Anderson. You're so full of yourself."

"Just trust me, sweetheart. You're going to love it, I promise." He said with a chuckle as he sat on a bench a good ten feet across from the men.

"Then I better be able to throw it at you with accurate aim."

"Alright, see you soon baby. Bye."

"I would say "smart idea" if I didn't have the overwhelming urge to hit you right now." He heard in his ear a few minutes later. He almost forgot about the earpiece.

"Yeah, okay." He said as quietly as he could manage while pretending to flick through a nearby magazine, letting the camera watch the men in front of him. "Getting everything?"

No response.

"You're welcome, Walker."

Time passed, and the men continued to throw him suspicious glances as they talked. He looked all around him for his approaching "girlfriend", playing with his phone, fiddling with the bracelet he bought his handler as a surprise. He wasn't worried though, he had his fail-safe ready and waiting.

Try me, the daring, naïve agent living inside him shouted at the men. I dare you!

Ten minutes passed, and the men decided it was time to leave. After throwing him one more anxious look they ambled off, blending into the harried crowd.

"I hope you got everything we need, because I can't follow them." He muttered, getting up and walking over to their vacated bench slowly. "They got a good look at me, so trying to get more would be—"

There, under the seat, sat an abandoned briefcase.

"Oh no," was all he remembered saying. He heard Annie's voice, knew she was speaking words, but he couldn't decipher them.

Then people were screaming, smoke and papers flew everywhere, and the back of his head collided with the tile floor.

The rest was drowned out by the explosion's massive boom echoing in his head.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, besides the plot of course. :D


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **It's Tuesday! And just like I promised, another chapter! Woohoo! I'm trying to balance out how much Annie and Auggie POV I've got in each chapter, so I'm sorry if this one seems a little short. I'm also trying to write more of Annie, and-guess what? It's ten times harder than I imagined. -.-

Oh well.

I don't know where this OC came from, somewhere left field, most definitely, but I think I'll keep her around. I've got a bit of a character plot surrounding her. She intrigues me. I hope you feel the same.

Thanks again for sticking with me, you guys. I hope you enjoy this chapter! See you next Tuesday!

* * *

"Aug?"

The third time she had called that name now, that name she was beginning to like so much. What about Auggie, her mind wondered, would he let her call him that?

She was getting ahead of herself, she knew, but she couldn't stop.

After the explosion half the department ran into her office. Joan was barking out any order she could think of, because she could _not_ lose her husband's ghost. He'd never forgive her, and they all knew it.

"Do you really think he's an Agent?" A rough voice asked in Russian, sounding off with such a thick Polish accent. "He looks like a punk."

Annie held a hand up, and the room was instantly quiet.

"While they've been known to blend in, some of the most modern and innovative Agents have learned that standing out actually draws the least suspicion while on a mission," another man prattled like a science teacher giving a lecture. This must be Steinberg, she decided with a roll of her unseeing eyes. Gorecki wouldn't be that paranoid to notice such a tactic.

"No wire," Gorecki grumbled through the distinctive sound of shirt buttons popping off the fabric. She mentally cheered. If she stayed silent maybe Steinberg wouldn't remember the earwig.

August's groan met her ears, and she almost called out his name. Instead she clamped a hand over her mouth and prayed he figured out an escape plan.

"Re...Rebecca?" He murmured groggily. She raised an eyebrow to nothing.

Who was _Rebecca_?

"August, sweetheart, is that you?" A woman asked from not-so-far-away. Immediately, Annie's blood boiled. She was stunned. How did he pull _her_ out of his bag of tricks?

"I...I was waiting for you. I thought we could grab lunch before we left," he was saying. Annie had to hand it to him: it was pretty convincing. "I even bought you something..."

"Shh," the mysterious woman cooed, "it's alright. Let's get you home. Thank you two for being so worried about him," she said to Gorecki and Steinberg, "that was very kind of you."

The men were silent. Just as astonished as she was, probably, for it had most likely been awhile since anyone had called them "kind".

"Good going," she heard Gorecki say, though it was soft—faded. August was moving away from them. "Made a mess out of nothing, just like always."

"How're you feeling?" Annie murmured long after the voices of the men faded and were replaced with the unmistakable sound of cars screeching. She finally decided that it was safe to speak, if only quietly. She still feared making him.

"Head," he replied, anguished. Her heart hurt for him, but her mind reeled.

"Who's with you?" She asked as calmly as she could.

"That's classified, Miss Walker." A woman's voice answered clearly, low and sultry. Annie blinked in surprise; Joan stilled beside her. "We'll be back at Langley soon."

"Don't let him fall asleep!" She called with more urgency than she meant to. The woman chuckled in such a way her skin crawled.

"Right, because I was just about to give him an Ambien."

She scowled. Who the hell did this chick think she was?

* * *

It was all a blur. He felt like he was inside a bubble, where everything and everyone was distorted and muffled. His head felt like it had split at the seams. His body throbbed.

"I was wandering when I heard the bomb go off," she muttered, more to herself than him. "I should've been there. I shouldn't have left you alone."

"If you never left me alone, Jillian, I wouldn't be the agent I am today." He said automatically, sounding like a broken record to himself; repeating the same line every time something went wrong and she doubted herself. "You'd also be dead by now."

She was silent beside him, preferring to concentrate on holding him upright instead of the conversation at hand. That was fine with him, for his head was making enough noise for the both of them—and then some.

"How's Annie?" His mouth gritted out on its own accord. He raised an internal eyebrow at himself, what did he care how Walker was doing?

Jillian's grip flexed on his waist subconsciously, "she's fine," She said too nonchalantly."I told her we'd be back at Langley in no time. She made sure I didn't give you any Ambien."

He would've smiled if he wasn't so afraid it would hurt.

Jillian was jealous of her. Why, he didn't know. Maybe because she wasn't the only blonde on his good side now, or because she blamed her for the chaos that had ensued back at the mall. Whatever it was, he was tactful enough not to say anything.

He blinked, and time warped around him. Before he knew it he was in front of the security house at Langley.

"Joan Campbell," Jillian was saying as professionally as he had ever heard her sound, "transporting one very critical Agent Anderson."

She was lucky there had been a shift change, and even luckier that these group of guards weren't the smartest of the bunch, because a few moments later they were rolling through the gate, parking, and hobbling towards the front doors.

"You know, eventually you'll have to find a new way to get in."

"But for now, I might as well put the shared DNA to good use." She retorted immediately. He rolled his eyes.

"If she ever finds out, she won't be happy."

"Then brother dearest can send you to scare me away."

He sighed: there was no trumping her on this. As his knee buckled though, he couldn't help but be grateful she was there.

"Easy Aug," she murmured as she hauled him back upright. "We're almost there."

"Jillian," Joan called from the balcony as soon as they walked through the front doors.

"Sister dearest!" Jillian called with a sarcastic enthusiasm only she could accomplish as a swarm of agents rushed to help her.

Joan pursed her lips and glared down at her doppelganger, calculating. "Get him to the medical wing. You have an hour."

* * *

The department was restless; charged air churned around her. Humid like before a storm, it was unbearable. She had to do something. Pummel a beefy criminal, dodge a stray bullet, get some air—_anything_. She couldn't stand it.

_This is your fault_.

She shook her head disgustedly. _No_. If this was her fault someone could take her out back and put a round through her skull, but it wasn't. She knew that.

But it was.

If I wasn't blind, she started angrily, I could've seen that bomb from a mile away. Hell, if I wasn't blind _I _would've been there. They wouldn't have gotten away.

"Hey," She heard from the doorway. She jumped and bit her lip, muting her surprised shriek. She really hated it when people snuck up on her.

"What's up Joan?" There was a pause, and her forehead furrowed in confusion. "Hello?"

"He's asking for you," she said instead, "you should get down there."

"Joan?"

Silence.

The woman—whoever she was—hadn't left yet, she knew that much.

"Thanks for being there," Annie said after a moment. The woman sighed.

"Thanks for looking out for him," she replied, although somewhat dicey on her tone.

Annie shut down her computer, grabbing her laser cane and getting ready to head down there for the night when she heard, "he doesn't like blondes."

She turned in the direction of the woman, "I'm sorry?"

"Never—nevermind. I should go. My hour's up."

"Wait—!"

But the office was empty.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, 'cept the plot and Jillian. Yeah, she's _**all**_ mine. Though, if you haven't figured it out yet, she looks just like Joan and I...I don't own Joan. =/


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter I've posted so far, and the second best (the first beating it-obviously)! Merry Christmas! Well, I'm Christain, so I say that, but if you're Jewish Happy Hanukkah! Is Hanukkah over yet? I dunno the Jewish customs, I'm sorry. -blushes-

Anyhoo, we learn a little bit of Annie's past in this chapter, but not all the finer details. That's, as she says, for "another time."

I hope you enjoy this, please give me your thoughts as whatever it is that I'm growing between them heats up! Happy Holidays!

* * *

There were people around him, all fretting. It seemed like once someone would stop they realized a few seconds later it wasn't their correct place, so they milled around the hordes of other people dancing the same delusional dance.

August tailed them with his eyes lazily, smirking when someone would trip or collide into another frazzled person. It looked like a game to him, one he would seriously consider joining if it didn't hurt so much to stand.

Suddenly an array of green dots lit up the doorway on the far side of the room, a dark blonde head appearing through it seconds later.

"Walker," he automatically called out. The frenzy around him slowed, like they were walking around with cement shoes. They were all looking at her with wide eyes, their faces growing pale. He scowled, she didn't deserve people looking at her like she was a freak show. "Annie, over here."

Her blank eyes seemed to lock on every other pair in the room, all staring. "This way, Miss Walker," a small woman said quietly, coming up beside her and touching her shoulder to alert her of her position. His eyebrows rose with surprise as he watched her, allowing this woman to seemingly _guide_ her to his section of the great sterile room. He was sure if anyone else tried to do that in such a bluntly dependent way she'd smack them with her stick.

Cane...with her _cane_. The lesser part of his brain smirked at the pun.

"Ah, Miss Walker, are you this young man's handler?" His doctor boomed, popping out of nowhere. August resisted the urge to jump, startled. His head was pulsing in agony, couldn't he be any quieter?

"Doctor Richards," Annie greeted as she approached his bed with a nod. At least she knew how to keep her voice low.

Richards looked her over, forlorn, as she felt her way to the bed railings. "Yes, well, I suppose this is no time for casualties, quite right." He cleared his throat; Annie smiled politely, waiting for him to continue.

"He's pretty banged up, your agent, but he should be good as new after the night. He's complaining of a headache, but there's no evidence on the MRI to suggest a concussion, so we'll take some extra precautions, hmm? I advise that he stays awake for the next 12 to 24 hours, just in case. Other than that his ankle seems to be badly bruised, might be a little sore for the next few weeks. We gave him some pain medicine, and as soon as he thinks he can withstand the pain he's free to leave."

August rolled his eyes, but Richards didn't seem to notice. Why the aging man couldn't tell him all that "without his handler present" was lost on him. He was staring wistfully at Annie, however, lost in his own world. Her eyes skidded around in their sockets. Unseeing, unknowing, and just as lost as the doctor's mind seemed to be.

"Thank you, Doctor Richards. I'll see you next Thursday."

Richards didn't seem to hear her. He was fighting something in himself, he could see it. August cleared his throat, jarring the man.

"Quite, now if you'll excuse me."

He watched the man walk away, and as he did he saw that Richards wasn't the only one captivated by Annie's presence in the medical wing. Nurses and volunteers were lost on her being. Entranced, but in a frustrated, pitying way. Nothing proud, nothing awed. Only sadness.

"How are you feeling?" Annie was asking, oblivious to the room around her. Her eyes were still darting around, searching, and he realized the frantic movement was subconscious. She felt frightened in this large room, caged, even if she wasn't aware of it.

"I'm fine," he grunted, pushing himself to the edge of the bed. "Let's get out of here."

Her face crumpled in confusion as she moved closer him, "what, why?"

"Because I don't need to be here. I can rest somewhere else."

"Do you live with anyone?" She asked as her hand collided with his knee. She wrapped her fingers around it.

"No," he said as he tried to ignore the pins and needles shooting up his thigh. Where did those come from?

"Then you're staying at my place."

His head shot up to look at her, but only succeeded in bashing it against her own. She winced and stifled a cry, and his head screamed in torture. He never knew it was possible to see stars, but as he tried to take calming breaths a whole galaxy bloomed across his eyes.

"Why?" He asked, bewildered, when he could finally breathe normally.

"Because Doctor Richards said you should stay awake for the next 12 to 24 hours, and it's easier to stay awake if there's someone with you. Plus, you shouldn't be alone in case anything happens, and you can't drive like this."

He groaned as he steadied himself against the bed. He knew she was right, but he didn't want to admit it. Living alone was a paradise in itself. There was no one to poke and prod you for questions about your personal life, you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, you didn't have to look out for anyone else's needs but your own. Tonight—of _all_ nights—he didn't want to give that up.

"Fine," he gritted out, waving his hand dismissively. "Call a cab or, or—something. Let's just get out of here."

She took his hand and placed it around her shoulder. "Here, lean on me if you need to."

He hadn't realized till now just how small she was compared to him, but as his hand fell over her shoulder he couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit beside him. Nothing felt awkward or strained, she just kind of...slid into place. Like a puzzle piece.

It was the injury, he decided with an inward angry shake of his head. Or the medicine, but these were _not_ normal thoughts.

"The blind leading the injured," he muttered with a smirk as they walked into the hallway. Annie took a deep breath before chuckling with him.

"What _is_ the world coming to these days?" She asked, shaking her head in mock dismay.

"I don't know, but it's only a matter of time before pigs grow wings."

She laughed beside him, shaking her head again. "That had nothing to do with your previous statement," she said between giggles.

"I'm impaired, sue me. But just you wait, soon they'll be evolving into pigs with these little nubs sticking out on the sides, and then later...poof. Wings."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Anderson."

* * *

On the ride home, Annie nicely asked the taxi driver (who she knew to be a man named Dave) to blast the most obnoxious rap/hip-hop radio station he could find as loud as he can. Also, to roll down the windows and let the chilly, D.C. December air race through the car. Any sane man would have said no, but with an extra 20 and a coffee date, they were speeding down the highway partially deaf and frozen.

"I'm not even tired yet!" He called to her over the roaring sound. She laughed and held her arm out the window, catching it in the air's current.

"Anything could happen, Auggie!"

"What'd you call me?" He asked brusquely.

She blushed and laughed again, choosing not to answer him and instead focusing on the pulsing sound waves and cold air surrounding her. Two things that never required sight; she just had to feel them.

"This place is huge!" He exclaimed as they were let off in front of the Brook's home. Annie pretended to marvel at it with him, before knocking her shoulder against his.

"I live in the guest house around back, come on." She said, wrapping her arm around his waist and guiding him up to the house as she mechanically switched out her small, sophisticated laser cane for her standard, clattering one.

"Annie, is that you?" Danielle called as they reached the small porch of her place. She sent an apologetic look towards August before turning to greet her. She heard her sister let out a whoosh of relieved air before enveloping her in a tight hug. "I thought something happened to you."

Even after all this time, Danielle didn't know about her real job as a CIA operative. Sure, she probably had a sneaking suspicion, but it was never outright given to her on a silver platter saying "surprise, here's the truth." Even when she had been kidnapped in Russia for all those months, mistaken for a double spy to the KGB, Danielle thought it was because of her work in the acquisitions department at the Smithsonian.

She pulled back from her sister's embrace and smiled in her direction, "I'm fine, honest."

"Who's this?" Danielle asked suddenly, obviously meaning August. Annie cringed slightly at the tone in her sister's voice, but plastered on her smile like it was nothing.

"Danielle, this is my friend from work, August. August, this is my sister, Danielle."

"What happened to you?" Danielle gushed, moving away from her. "It looks like you got blown up by a bomb!"

August laughed in a way Annie had never heard before, it made her stomach turn. "Something similar to that, yeah. We had stopped at my house before going out to eat and I was in my bathroom when a pipe exploded in my face. The doctor at the ER assures me I'm fine, though, just need a place to stay until I can get in touch with my landlord—who, regrettably, went away on vacation for the holidays."

Annie blinked, surprised at the blatant lie, but Danielle was silent for a millisecond before cooing "oh you poor _thing_! Why don't you and Annie get situated inside and I'll bring you over some dinner? Is there anything in particular I can get you two from the main house?"

"Just some extra blankets for the night, thanks Danielle."

"Nice save," she murmured as she opened the door for him, sure that her sister had already scurried back into her own home.

"I'm not the best agent in the CIA for nothing," he sang, stepping over the threshold. "This is...wow."

"It's not much, but it's comfortable. Go sit on the couch, can I get you anything?"

"Just a water," he called after her as she headed into the kitchen. "I probably shouldn't chance a beer with the meds they gave me."

"Valid point," she said, handing him his glass a moment later before curling up on the other side of the couch.

"So, did you spend a lot of time in that medical wing when you—?" She looked down at where she supposed was her bottle of beer, knowing what he meant even if she couldn't see the hand gesture he most likely made to his eyes. "I mean, when you—"

"Three months," she answered quietly, absently fingering the scar on her neck. There was a soft choking sound from directly in front of her, and she resisted the urge to smirk. "They flew me directly in as soon as they got me out of the camp, I didn't leave that place till they were sure I was fine."

"From where, what happened?"

"You didn't read my file?" She asked over her beer, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

He was silent for a moment, "nothing on what happened to you is in there. It's erased."

She hummed at the newfound knowledge, for she didn't particularly enjoy catching up on her own personal history when she could just relive it in her dreams.

A knock on the door shook the air around them of its heavy tension, she blinked. "Annie?" Danielle called, knocking again. "Are you two decent?"

She rolled her eyes, though the gesture did nothing to relieve her annoyance. "Yes, Danielle, always will be!" She called back, listening as the door creaked open. "Another time," she murmured to him.

"You said he was a friend, and he talked about going out for dinner so I just assumed..."

"Well, you know what they say." She sniffed the food-scented air, "what'd you bring? Lasagna?"

"Dad's recipe, yeah. The girls devoured it, but I managed to save enough for you and your _friend_."

"Thanks, sis." Annie deadpanned, glaring in the direction of the older woman's floating voice. She heard August chuckle beside her.

"Well," Danielle said as she came back to the living room, too long after any normal trip to the kitchen would have taken. "I brought the good plates and cups, so you're not eating out of Annie's makeshift, paper dinner-ware. Also, I brought over what's left of the wine Michael brought home, and there's a fresh box of condom's in your nightstand. So—! I'm going to head back and check on the girls. I'll send them your love. You two have a good night!"

Annie groaned and fell forward on the couch, hearing the pillow she had thrown after her sister's retreating form fall miserably against the closed door.

Beside her, August was laughing.

"Oh shut up, it's not like you're getting any tonight."

"I'm known to be a very convincing man, when I want to be, Miss Walker." He whispered in her ear. His hot breath against her neck made her jump up, shivering.

He was still laughing at her when she came back from the kitchen with two hot plates of lasagna.

"Here," she said with a scowl, thrusting it towards where she last knew him to be sitting, "eat it."

"I don't want to right now," he said from behind her, his hands coming around her hips. Only then did she notice her Mingus record playing softly in the background. He took the two plates from her and set them down on the coffee table. "I want to dance."

"You're...you're impaired." She tried as he turned her around and started swaying to the music. He hummed in amusement, encircling her hip again with his large hand.

"Nothing I can't overcome," he said offhandedly, spinning her around.

"What exactly did they give you?" She asked, bemused.

"About 700 milligrams of Tylenol with codeine."

"You're...you're—on _crack_!"

"Something like that," he said, laughing, as he dipped her low.

Her heart skidded and thumped hard in her chest. Blood pulsed in her ears, her mouth went dry. When he brought her up she got as close to him as she dared, so close the moisture of each shallow, hot puff of air that tumbled out of his mouth clung to her cheeks, warming her from the inside out.

"Annie?"

Oh God, what was happening to her?

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, but the plot and Doctor Richards. He's British, could you tell? :D

**A/N: **Oh, and I know some of you who know what codeine is will say it puts you to sleep, but not if you're hardwired to react opposite to the side-effects of some medications...which I am, and apparently, August here is, too. ;D


	7. HIATUS NOTE

Hi there, WhoaaKayy here. I know it sucks when someone's less than 10 chapters into a story and then they go on hiatus, but that's exactly what I'm doing. At least until season two premieres, because I've sucked all the inspiration from season one dry and that would be the reason for my not updating in _forever_. I'm sorry.

Please continue to look in case I write anything new or surprise you all with a chapter update. This story is **NOT** completed, so please don't take it off your alerts. I will continue it later on in the year.

Thank you for your continued support,

- WhoaaKayy


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